Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1887-12-25
A CHRISTMAS or TWENTY-FIVE YEARS
AGO.
TFor the Dispatch.l

meath the sod, was iull Of fire and am
bition. Of hope and courage.
Now how changed the scene. Peace
reigns triumphant. The Gates Of
Janus are closed once more. Then
twenty-five years ago-all within my
range of vision Was one vast camping
ground, whore tho Cary Arms ~
"Support Arms :" "Attention : Com
pany. was the eternal refrain.
was one Of a baud OF orphans who
had watched those near and dear march
away sanguine of q glorious victory and
laurels to be won We with tcar-be-
dimmed eye. each step that bore them
away a knell to our aching hearts, Tor
thew would return-ah neyermcre.
Only those who have reiugeed know The
lonely feeling that crept over us when
black-wingei night folded us IN a home
less band. We went within "oar lines
to be near friends and brothers. / soon
looked for employment, for the bread OF
dependeuce was bltter,-sO bitter
| gathered together the children
of the neighborhood to instruct, but
weary work found it. As thoughts would
wander and Imagination picture Tear
ful havoc AMI one form stiff and cold IN
death. scorching tears would fall and
blister the book. the little ones would
look up with reassuring smiles, and the
stout rebel hearts would say ; " Don {
cry we'll beat the Yankees Ny little
school-house was in clump of trees
near the roadside. Often would we be
Jared by the explosion OF shells or
startled by tho whiz Of the bullet on ITS
deadly errand and then "a blue-cooted
figure would peer in at us, and seeing
only q lone woman and few little chill
dren would not utrude but hasten on,
loading his rifle as he went, as the
"rebels" were always in hot pur-
suit. How slowly the time passed,
and how anxiously we awaited any
news from camp. Autumn came Mt last.
The woods were in their most gorgeous
dress. as il Dame Nature bad pourea
forth the contents OF her paint-b0x IN
discrminately and blended every con
ceiyable tlnt, only they were not affected
bv the erim-visagcd war Winter set IN
cold and severe. In the long evenings
we would knit and sew for our soldiers,
weaving bright fancies and loving
thoughts in with the stitches and the
click, click of the needles, and listen
with rapt attention as someone read TO us
the movements of our army. the manUu-
vres OF the enemy, OF victory or defeat,
the list OF the wounded and slam. Time
and tide await no man. Christmas
came as it had done in happier days and
AS it will ever come. whether we are sad
or merry, bringing always the GLAD
tidings OF a Saviour born. OF peace
and good viii to all men," can see lt
now-the home I called mine then, the
kind and loving friends among whom !
taught so long. How wildly do ! recall
that Christmas, SO long ago. Our pre-
paratiOns were not very elaborate, a few
OF the good things procurble IN our
poverty, loving wishes, ana the home
gayly decorated in evergreen and ivy,
which We had climbed the mountains to
obtain. Our winter was made glorious
summer by invitations for dance IN the
neiChborhood. Who does not know the
excitement attending such news IN the
country. What b wear became the
question of the day. literally the "tug OF
war" We had made ana remade until
patience and garments were alike thread
bare. Being ~ last attlrcd 10 each
others satisfaction, We mounted our
horses pronounced "untit ior ser
vice, "-trotted, paced, and ut last reach
ed our destination. Al how bright are
anticipations but alas how bitter the
realization Of them. How quickly beat
our hearts as we neared the festive scene
and saw in the cold, bright moonlight
the horses of caylirymen, aud knowing
the close proximity of the camp, knew
eyes would be the brighter for our
presence. Huge log-fres burned bright
ly in the large open fireploceS, with their
tall brass andirons, and the homemade
candles Confederate lights shone
brightly on the scene. Uncle Joe,
with rolling eyes and fierce gestlcula-
tons. was welding the " fid1le-bow, and
when he sang out in his stentorian voice,
"Gemman, lead out your partners, We
soon formed a merry set. Once more
were we all united, friends NJ home and
in camp. All seemed 50 jOyously hap
Ply Swiftly the hours flew on. with
song, dance, and promenade. just as
we were marshalled into "A feast OF good
things, the contributions OF the neigh
borhood, sound that was not OF the wind
burst upon us. a frightened face peCred
in ut the door, and a smotherod voice,
The Yankees are coming The laugh
ter was hushed. Thsn the merry repartee
died away on the lips, there were sud
den partings suchas crush the life ont OF
young hearts, the soldiers grasped theiI
arms, sprang into their saddles, and were
oil with the wind, unmindful OF the loud
command to Halt !" Sharp reports
were heard, one reeled and fell, the
others galloped madly on, the enemy IL
hot pursuit. The fallen brave, strangely
enough, had been overlooked his hors,
had dashed OF, and he had fallen in tn,
shadow OF large oak. Only | had seeI
him |, whose vision had probably beer
rendered clearer by that strange sens'
OF coming i'll which had in vain triet
TO quell oy being recklessly gay and bril-
liant all the evening. Unseen by thr
others | flew to bis side my love n,
king The life-blo was eobing, ebb
ing away, and ! could not save him. 20
my God !" | cried, "spare him, spar
hun" How pitilessly and cold,
the moon gazed down on me in N,
agony. Weep not, my darling, 70
me, were his gentle words "Call n,
one let me die on your faithful heart
I | am not afraid to die. 1t is all right.
'trust the God to whom | knelt at IN,
mothers knee. My poor mother and II,
poor little woud-be bride. Oh! Kate
your warm tears on my face feel comfort
ing. Bid me good bye be as happy a
, you can in this world. 1t is all right.
His manly voice grew fainter; heayil
sank his head. Brayely had he lived
bravely had he died. | was alone wit
my dead The cold face of the moo
seemed to mock me; the withere
branches sobbed and sighed r.
QUEEN. The voices OF the CON
pany on the porch seemed lk
some far-away dream. There the
found us-he who was all the world {
me dead dead II insensible on his life